


Bad End

by TimConwaysElephantStory



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, I mean semi-canonical, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimConwaysElephantStory/pseuds/TimConwaysElephantStory
Summary: In which the Inquisitor and Dorian grieve in very different ways.





	Bad End

Dorian Pavus was well on his way to becoming a public spectacle. Or he would have been if not for the uncharacteristic privacy of the tavern at Halamshiral at three in the morning. On other nights there would doubtless have been stragglers, but the events of the day had somewhat dampened the palace’s mood. There was a new threat bent on destroying the world; the inquisition had been disbanded; and two of its so-called inner circle had revealed their true, treacherous natures.

One of them used to sit right where Dorian now did.

So he drank. He drank whatever he could lay his hands on and tasted none of it. As sleep was denied him it was clear the only way out of this hell lay at the bottom of a tankard - and then another, and another. It would not be the first time that the scion of house Pavus had drunk himself to unconsciousness in an effort to avoid his reality.

He tried very hard not to think about anything while he drank. Or at least, he tried to think of nothing of import. He spent half an hour inspecting the painting on the wall, while the tavern floor took up a full forty with its many stains of ambiguous origin. Unfortunately, on close inspection of the closed front door, it dawned on him where the two deep scratches on the the frame had come from and he closed his eyes and downed his drink in one. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes and, mercifully, he could not differentiate those that came from the power of the alcohol from those that came from somewhere else entirely.

Tomorrow morning Dorian would leave for Minrathous. Tonight would have been ideal, but by the time he realised as much it had become too late to set off. The tavern would make for sufficient lodging whether unconsciousness found him or not.

He was just getting to the point of needing to rest his head on the bar when a hand landed gently on his upper arm. He startled, though it was somewhat delayed, and turned toward the Inquisitor. Lavellan’s big, dark eyes widened even further in concern.

“Your holiness!” He greeted, aware in some back part of his mind that this wasn’t correct. “Come, sit, cele- hic -brate.”

She lowered herself slowly on to a stool, slightly unbalanced by the missing arm. Already, though, she was managing it better than most - taking everything in stride, that was their Inquisitor’s forte. Lavellan looked at him as one would eye a lion with which one was trapped in an enclosed space which, in Dorian’s opinion, was a vast overreaction. 

“Are you feeling alright, Dorian?” She asked, visibly considering each word before speaking it, “Do you want to talk?”

“About what could I wish to speak, your excellency? Our thundering defeat of a band of Qunari savages? The last hurrah of The Inquisition that will echo through the ages? What is there to discuss? Righteousness has triumphed over wickedness and the day has been saved.” Dorian was aware of possibly having stumbled over a few syllables here and there but was sure he’d still delivered a rousing address. The Inquisitor looked less impressed than he felt she should have, however.

“I meant about…” she looked around significantly.

Dorian swallowed. It was a monumental effort, with that kind of prompting, not to think about the topic he’d been actively avoiding since the fight with the - well, since the fight with the large lizard-like creature. God how he hated them. He hated them so much the very idea of the species bought tears of disgust to his eyes.

“Now don’t be so sly, Inquisitor, I can see right through you, you know.”

“You can?”

Dorian took a gulp from whatever it was he’d poured himself, “You’re trying to turn all this around on me when really it’s you who needs to get something off your chest!”

Lavellan raised an eyebrow, “I don’t quite follow.”

“I would have thought it was obvious. You see, you and I are the very illustration of what dangers accompany irresponsibly allocating one’s trust, after all. I mean, to spend years fighting beside someone only for them to turn on you for the sake of some vague greater purpose. They could write cautionary tales about us.”

The room was starting to spin even as Dorian rested his head in his hands. He fought off a rising nausea as the Inquisitor, in an endearing attempt at sneakiness, slowly slid the tankard toward her end of the bar.

“You’re right,” she said simply, “And if anyone were to understand how you’re feeling, it would be me.”

“Ah yes, I suppose it was particularly difficult for you when you were forced to fight Solas and leave him dead on the ground.” Dorian thumped the bar hard with his fist and Lavellan startled slightly, “No, wait, that was someone else. Can’t for the life of me remember who. Poor bastard who had to do that would really have something to complain about.”

Even drunk and raging, Dorian was aware that he was being unfair. He could’t bring himself to feel guilt, however, and merely let the frustration of it fuel his rising anger.

Lavellan stared off into the middle distance. Perhaps she too was reliving the day’s events. Perhaps they were both trying not to see the same things. If so she was likely doing far better with it.

Dorian realised she had begun speaking, slowly and carefully, “Perhaps, but I lost a friend today too, as did a lot of other people. You’re not alone in this unless you want to be.”

“The fabulous Inquisition’s ‘inner circle’, you mean? Where would we be without it, I wonder?” Dorian shifted his head from one hand to the other, “A select crew, hand-picked by the Herald herself. You were the one who brought us all together, I seem to recall…”

“Dorian-”

“ _Vishante kaffas!_ ” He thumped a fist down on the bar again and this time felt the sting, “I would ask what divine right let you think you could meddle in our lives like you did, but the answer’s so obvious it’s pathetic! _Herald of Andraste_ , what a joke.”  


“It wasn’t-”  


“You could have told him to fuck off! You could have left him to drown on that Maker-forsaken coast! You- You-”

There were tears again but this time no excuse for them. Dorian let them blur his vision, still trying not to think, trying not to _see_. He felt a light touch on his arm - so light it was barely discernible. Dorian clapped his hand over Lavellan’s sole remaining one and held on tight. He could keep the tears from falling but only by keeping very still. He thought he felt a few spots of moisture from where Lavellan’s head rested on his shoulder but couldn’t be certain. That was the Inquisitor, he thought eventually, weathering everyone’s personal storms no matter her own troubles. She was more than they deserved, and Dorian hated himself.

Light was just starting to stain the horizon before they moved again. The Inquisitor blinked slowly and shook her head before standing up.

“You should get some sleep,” she said, “Tevinter’s a long trip.”

Dorian tried to laugh faux-mockingly, as he would have been able to just yesterday, but it sounded hollow even to him, “I’m well aware, but doubt I’ll find any here.” He hesitated a moment, “You know the day I arrived here he moved in to my room. I don’t even know if he ever had one himself. There was no discussion, no question, like he belonged there and I- I liked it. Oh, I complained and I scolded but really it made me so happy, and… Well, I think I’ll stay here if it’s all the same.”

Lavellan didn’t smile, but it was a close thing. She pulled a key out of her pocket and put it on the bar. “I’ve far too much to do to sleep. With Leliana's Divine duties she has to keep strange hours for counselling the Inquisition, so you’re welcome to my room. Who knows, if someone sees you leaving it in the morning we might even cause a scandal.”

“Ha, you exploit my weaknesses, as ever.”

The Inquisitor was turning the doorknob by the time Dorian worked up the resolve to call out to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, waving a hand around at the tavern, “For all of this. For Solas. For whatever it’s worth.”

She looked back only briefly, eyes soft, “And I’m sorry that I couldn't fix it. Goodnight, Dorian.”

“Goodnight, your holiness.”

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, I know Dorian isn't ostensibly this messed up in Trespasser but killing your bf's gotta be rough.
> 
> This had a second part too once upon a time with more vaguely video gamey introspection that I might finish up someday.


End file.
